A Lesson for the Hasty Heart
by pierulestheworld
Summary: For a prompt on my ask-blog for SerbCro angst. It's 1718, Serbia is now briefly under Austria's rule, and he's pining.


**I'm not the best at angst, and have no idea how to draw it, so I went with writing instead. This might seem slightly ooc I guess, but it's only because this ended up being a very introspective piece, so you don't get any of the front Serb puts up (and also 200 years worth of crap hasn't hit him yet to make him even more gruff and stubborn).**

 **I'm never entirely sure that the deeper layers of the characters, the parts they would kep to themselves, are visible to people just through the asking of questions on this blog, but I try aha.**

 **Also historical note: It's sort of mentioned in the story, but after the Treaty of Passarowitz from 1718-1739, most of the northern lands of modern Serbia were under Austrian rule as the Kingdom Of Serbia. In 1738-39 during the end of the Austro-Russo–Turkish War, the Austrian's began to retreat from the area which caused the second Great Serb Migration as the Christian Serbs preferred being in a Christian empire to a Muslim one.**

 **From my ask blog ask-the-yugoslavbunch dot tumblr dot com**

 _1718_

Serbia stood in the foyer, and considered dropping his bag on the ground, but then remembered that he was in Austria's house now, and decided not to make a mess. Austria was a clean freak or something, wasn't he? And Serbia needed to be grateful to him, since he wasn't with Turkey anymore.

As he glanced around the foyer, the differences between his old house and his new one were becoming readily apparent. Turkey's house had always looked lived in. Very lived in. Possibly too lived in. There were so many children running about who had a vendetta against Turkey, and since he wasn't home enough for them to take it out against him, his house took the brunt of their anger.

Austria's house was the exact opposite of Turkey's. It was immaculate, and practically shining, its polished floors and hanging paintings a far cry from the burnt walls and mud tracks back in Istanbul.

There was the sound of running feet, and Serbia turned to look towards the hallway it was coming from just in time to see Vojvodina run through and tackle his legs in a hug. She was still so small that, even running at full speed, their collision barely made him budge, and he laughed.

"Voj!" He exclaimed, not caring now whether he dropped his bags in his excitement to see his sister.

Picking his little sister up, he grinned as she babbled about how happy she was that he was here. He may have had to leave Kosovo behind, but at least he saw his youngest sister now. She pushed her head against his collarbone, and he looked over her head to see Croatia standing at the entrance of the hallway.

"Austria sent me to help you get settled in. The little one tagged along," Croatia grinned slightly.

And really, when it came to his feelings, that grin was the beginning of the end.

-x-x-x-

Croatia had a sort of crooked grin, the kind you would associate with a troublemaker. To be fair, Croatia kind of was a troublemaker. He had a short temper, and a very strong belief system, and when cornered he could become almost terrifying in his fierceness. Those were all quite useful back when he was independent and fighting wars; but now that he was a servant, all it got him was punishment for speaking out against Austria.

But he had a nice laugh, and he laughed often. When he wasn't angry and raging, he always seemed so calm and welcoming, and he always had time to flash a cheeky grin or stifle a laugh. His laugh was one that rang from deep inside the person, and you could probably feel the vibrations of it, if you were touching his chest.

Sometimes, when Serbia heard Croatia laughing, it took all his control to not to reach out and try to feel the vibrations. Now, _that_ would send the wrong impression, randomly trying to touch his chest.

Although he did really have a nice chest. Croatia only looked around sixteen, but he was firmly muscled from years of hard work and battles. His arms especially looked nice, from the work he had done the past few years as Austria's landscaper.

Croatia also liked working shirtless, which Serbia tried his damnedest to ignore when they worked together in the same area.

It was in one of those moments, when Serbia was taking a break, staring at Croatia, and pretending that he wasn't, that Serbia was hit by the revelation of how utterly fucked he was.

-x-x-x-

"Hey, Voj?"

His little sister looked up, eyes all wide and adorable.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think anyone around here likes anyone else? In a like-like sense, not just that they're friends."

No reason to make vague statements, Voj probably wouldn't have gotten them anyways. And Serbia was interested in what she had to say, from the mouth of babes and all that.

Voj scrunched up her nose as she considered his question. Serbia tried not to laugh as he patiently waited for her response. His littlest sister really was too cute.

"I think Mr. Austria likes Ms. Hungary. He's very nice to her."

Serbia stored that away to see if it was true, but it wasn't exactly what he was looking for.

"What about the others?"

Another long pause as she thought.

"Ms. Czech likes to stare at Mr. Croatia when he's working outside, I think she might like him."

There was a pang in his gut. That was the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear.

"Do you think he likes her back?"

"He's nice to her." Voj shrugged and leaned against him yawning.

Serbia picked her up and carried his tired sister to her room, before going back to his own. That terrible feeling in his gut had grown.

Croatia was a nice person (most of the time), so of course he would be nice to Czech. But Croatia and Czech had both been under Austria for a while now. Serbia and Croatia had probably known each other longer, but they had never lived together like that, had only seen each other sparingly before Serbia moved in. Serbia knew that he and Croatia were friends, but it seemed like Croatia and Czech were closer than mere friends.

He just couldn't stop thinking about it. It was an observation made by a girl who was mentally only around four years old, but some part of him took ahold and made him believe it _had_ to be true.

He didn't get much sleep that night.

-x-x-x-

He never mentioned his feelings to Croatia.

He wasn't sure if Croatia was into Czech, although Voj had been on the mark on Czech's staring habit, but he didn't want to know. Plausible deniability. If he didn't know, then it wasn't true. Simple as that. He could just stay as he was, watching from afar. He was fine with leaving it that way.

He had to be fine with leaving it that way.

-x-x-x-

Years went by, and Serbia began to get used to living in Austria's house. There was more work now than he had while at Turkey's, but he got to drink and hang out with Croatia, see his youngest sister daily. He just had to focus on the little things.

But his body began to ache as battles were fought on his land, and, as his people began to flee, Serbia knew his time with Austria was almost over.

He was becoming weaker from the migrations; even Austria seemed to take pity on him, and switched his chores from outside work to looking after the younger nations. Some part of him wanted to scoff at the women's work, but he couldn't bring himself to. He really was too exhausted.

One day, while the younger ones were napping, Serbia finally acknowledged he wasn't fine just staring after Croatia.

He was staring out the window and watching Croatia and Czech laughing together outside, and something snapped. He didn't like the hollow feeling in his chest whenever Croatia made some comment on a human. He didn't like the irrational jealousy he felt whenever Croatia talked to Czech. He wanted to be nearer to him, to be able to touch his chest, to kiss him, to actually say any of that out loud without fear he'd get rejected. His body ached from the effects of war and his heart ached from keeping this in for twenty years.

When Croatia came in for a break from work, Serbia was also in the kitchen getting some food for when the kids woke, and his body moved before his mind did.

He lurched forward and grabbed Croatia's face with both of his hands. Their teeth knocked together as Serbia leaned in too fast to kiss Croatia. The kiss was brief and messy, more Serbia desperately trying to get all those feelings out in one action than anything else.

He pulled away as abruptly as he started the kiss, and he could vaguely hear and feel himself panting. All he could focus on was Croatia's shocked expression as the other man gaped wordlessly at him.

Serbia fled the kitchen.

-x-x-x-

He never did get any resolution to that moment.

Serbia was never alone with Croatia for very long after that before he had to move back to Turkey's house, as his own land had been retaken by the Turks. There had been one brief moment where they had been in the kitchen alone, like before. Croatia had opened his mouth to say something, but Hungary walked in, interrupting him.

It's whatever. Shit happens, things don't always work out.

Or at least that's what he tries to tell himself.


End file.
